Apples
by CatrienStardust
Summary: Eclare; A snapshot into the childhood of Elijah Goldsworthy, why he hates apples, and the girl who comes along and changes everything. Complete
1. The Trauma

When he was younger, Eli Goldsworthy had an apple tree in his backyard. It was perfect, really. In the summer it provided comfortable shade and delicious apples and, most importantly, an escape.

At nine, his life was pretty good. Sure, he was known as the smart, nerdy kid, and teased and bullied a lot, and sure, his father sometimes got mad and hit him, but Eli didn't think about all those things. To him, all that mattered was the undying love his mother held for his father and Alice Olson from down the street.

When all his friend's parents were divorcing, his mothers love only grew stronger. Eli was sure that nothing, not even his father's rage, would tear their family apart.

He loved a lot about that Apple tree, but the best part about it was the long, broad branches. Climbing trees was useful to him for a number of reasons. Not only could he escape the older kids who bullied him, but he could escape his father, as well. Plus, it was a perfect spot for reading books. However, it was up in that tree in which he tasted the first bittersweet drops of life.

It was from that tree that he watched his father push his mother down, take a gun from his dresser drawer, and shoot himself in the head.

Funny that, after the funeral, his grandmother came over and brought Apple strudel with her, in a sad attempt to cheer up her grieving daughter.

That day, Elijah Goldsworthy decided two things; Love was stupid, if you loved someone, they would leave, hands down, and he hated the taste of apples.

**Would you like to know what's nice? Feedback. ;D I won't beg though. I was thinking in turning this into a two-shot, Eclare, obviously. Lemme know. **


	2. The Closure

I'm running late.

One shoe on, blazer thrown over his shoulder, hair in a mess, I stumble blindly around the dark basement in a rapid attempt to find some article of clothing that might resemble cleanliness.

My hands feel the cool wall for the light switch, but when I flip it, it merely clicks, utterly useless.

_Great_, I think. _Mom's forgotten to pay the power bill. Again_.

Grimly, I pull a shirt over his head and shove my foot in the other shoe. I clomp up the stairs into the small kitchen, ignoring the bottles thrown askew and the unmistakably scent of rotting food.

My nose wrinkles as I open the fridge, searching for something to sustain his growing hunger; eyes falling on a single piece of fruit.

Cue the brow furling.

An apple.

I sigh.

It's silly, really, to get all worked up over a piece of _fruit._

I offer a sideways smirk, mostly at myself, and pick the apple up, closing the fridge and throwing the apple into my bag.

On the way out, I stop and peck my passed-out mother on the cheek, smooth and sharp and quick.

Her skin feels like dried apricots, and I can almost taste the smoke from her cigarettes on my lips.

_I could allow himself to get worked up. But I won't._

Without a glance in the other direction, I slam the front door, collapse into my hearse, and drive away.

Every class is a blur to me.

Scratch that.

This whole school, these people, this town is just a blur to me.

I know I won't be here long, that my mother's jackass ex-boyfriend will catch up with us eventually, and maybe that's subconsciously why I refuse to give anyone the time of day here.

The only time I've broken his creed so far was simply out of courtesy, pity, and fear when I ran over some poor girl's glasses.

On the other hand… I can't say she didn't have an effect on me.

I have no alibi, I've just always loved blue eyes…

She sits behind me in this class, English, and I can hear her shuffle, hear her sighs and her quiet noises behind me, and there's no way I'm going to lie and say that it doesn't have an effect on me, because it does.

A lot.

I shake my head.

_Sanity, remember?_

My only priority was to survive, and even that seems far-fetched. He _can't_ add a girl to the mix.

I wouldn't be good for her, what with my questionable mental status, criminal records, and what not.

Hell, I drive a _hearse _for Christ's sake.

Honestly, I'm wasn't good for _anyone_.

I busy myself with a black sharpie, coloring my nails, deadpan. Sure, I could use nail polish, but what was the fun in that?

Behind me, Blue Eyes (Oh god I did _not_ just nickname her) argues with the teacher, what was her name? Mrs. Laws? Mrs. Doe? Mrs. Daze? None of those sound right, but whatever. Not important.

She's arguing over her grade. Apparently, a 'C' isn't acceptable. I raise his dark brows at her words. So she's an over achiever, huh? Even more the reason to avoid her. _Despite_ those sapphire eyes…

_God Blue Eyes. Just accept the grade; they're not exactly things you can haggle._

They continue their banter and I ignore them. Next time, I'll just skip class. Anything to avoid _this._

Focus, Eli. Focus on the thumbnail.

_Hm. Black suits me._

"Then prove it. To your new English partner."

_Suddenly Blue Eyes is quiet. Maybe I should… _

Oh.

English partn- Oh, Crap.

"Me?"

"Yes you."

Breathe, Eli, Breathe.

I don't pay attention to the rest of her words, or the little protests coming from Blue Eyes behind him, her breathe fanning over my neck. A mixture of excitement and dread fills my heart. Forced time… With… Her.

"Sylvia Plath killed herself."

I smirks. Little Red has spunk. I likes that.

Wait. Little Red?

Oh _shit_, I'm screwed.

The next day, I'm hungry.

It's not my fault, per say. There was nothing in the house.

Again.

I'm in my desk, the apple perched atop it like some rival in a cheap Western movie.

Another scoff.

_It's a piece of fruit, Eli. Not exactly mortal enemy status here._

Another eye roll.

Then, something –someone- enters the room that's much more deserving of my attention. His gaze swoops over her body, taking in the alabaster skin, strawberry hair, clear, innocent eyes. I can feel something in his heart spark, almost rumble, like a hunger.

For _her._

_SANITY, Eli._

I purse my lips as she makes her way to the desk in front of me, taking a seat and throwing several papers at him. They're warm, fresh from the printer, and I raise an eyebrow.

"Just read them, okay? It's not my choice, but you're my English partner and I kind of want a good grade."

I smirk again, and I can see her eyes glimmer with annoyance. Good. I _hope _I infuriate her.

Her work is good, but about as impersonal as it can get. Not to mention that I can tell nothing about her through her words. Irritating.

_Where's the spunk from yesterday, Blue Eyes?_

My stomach growls. Damn you, biology. I pick up the apple and take a bite out of it. It tastes falsely sweet and nostalgic.

Damn memories.

"What do you think?"

That's right. For once, focus on _her_.

"It's…"

"Awkwardly constructed, filled with hyperbole, and general sloppy?"

She says it as a truth. Intriguing.

_Writer's Block, little red?_

It's awkward; I'm not going to lie, but there's something about the distraught in those Blue Eyes that makes me really want to… fabricate things, if only just to see her smile.

"The title's centered."

_Sorry, Blue Eyes._

"Mrs. Dawes is right." An exasperated sigh. Adorable. "I have writer's block."

"So don't hand it in."

"What? And tell her the dog ate my homework?"

_There's the spark. I like this side of you, Blue Eyes._

People are filling in, but an idea is forming in my head. I lean in, smirking devilishly.

"Or… You could take off."

She looks shocked.

_What, Saint. Clare? You mean you've never_ skipped?

"You mean… Skip?"

I snort. "If you want to make it official."

Another bite of nostalgia. Damn you, you fruity Satan.

"It _would_ give me time to write a way better assignment"

_ rebellious, Clare._

The bell breaks my thoughts.

"Decision time. Stay, or go?"

She snaps the lid on her lunch.

I watch, surprise in my eyes as she walks to the door.

"Well," _God, she's pretty._ "You coming?"

Smirk, shrug, grab bags and bite apple.

_So much for avoidance. And sanity, for that matter._

Seeing as she's a sophomore, and not old enough to drive, we take my hearse.

_It's too quiet. Cat got your tongue, Blue Eyes?_

She's reading her paper and biting her lip. I find the way she does it very agreeable. Halfway to the Dot, their destination, she clears her throat and speaks.

"Can I have that?"

I turn to see what she's referring to, and see's her pointing to the half-eaten apple resting on the shockingly spotless center console. With a slight expression of disbelief I nod and watch as her pink lips absentmindedly open and close around the apple.

I blink and turn to the road.

_No… distractions… But _god_ I want to be that apple._

For the second time today, I curse the living hell out of apples.

"Wow. This is a first. Skipping school to do _work_."

She ignores my comment, sapphire eyes peeking over the top of my paper with disbelief.

"I don't understand how you got an 'A' and I got a 'C'."

_Harsh, Blue Eyes. Is it really that bad?_

"Simple. I'm dating Ms. Dawes."

She lets out a sharp sigh that I want to bottle and save forever.

_I'm getting to her. Good._

"You're a good writer, but anyone could've penned this piece. There's no point of view."

It's the truth, and she knows it, but still, she protests.

"I wrote about gun control. I say it's good."

"Wow._ Controversial._"

Another sharp sigh.

_Am I under your skin yet, Blue Eyes?_

"Okay. Fine. What am I supposed to write about?"

She places the paper beside her and I think for a moment.

"Something that pisses you off."

"Besides my English partner?" she retorts.

_That's it. I'm _definitely_ under her skin now._

"Ouch!" I say with mock-hurt. "If you could change one thing in the world, what would it be?"

Her eyes shoot down, meek.

_Don't put up barriers now, Blue Eyes._

"My mom and dad."

_Typical._

"They aren't exactly getting along."

_So Blue Eyes has baggage? I should have suspected as much. Funny though, I can relate…_

She looks so sad that suddenly I want to stroke her cheek, to do something to put a smile on those pink lips and the light back into those baby blues.

_Stop. Hold it. Did I really just think the words, 'Baby Blues?'_

_Get a hold on yourself, Eli._

"So write about that."

"I can't!" She sounds shocked. "It's _personal._"

"You care too much about what people think."

"That is not true."

Another plan is forming. _I _like_ this, Blue Eyes._

"Then prove it."

A challenge. She raises her eyebrow at me to continue.

_Oh, Blue Eyes…_

I scoot a little closer to her on the wooden bench.

"Kiss me."

She's shocked, to say the very least, her lips opening and closing, struggling to find words.

"You're kidding." It's a statement.

_Are you afraid?_

"No," I scoot a little more closely. She moves away slightly, and I take it as a challenge. "I'm not."

She doesn't say anything.

"C'mon Clare. In front of all these people… It'll prove you don't care."

Silence.

"Or are you _scared_?"

I drawl out the last word. I'm unafraid of rejection; I _know_ she won't back down.

"F-Fine."

_Impressive. I made her squeak and stutter._

I smirk, scooting closer, my pulse hammering slightly. I know that I said I'd stay away from her, but I'm not one to pass up an opportunity. I don't believe in it, but you've gotta figure that if life hands you the girl you swore yesterday to stay away from, flat out, then it's got to mean _something_, right?

Right.

I'm closer now, her lips just inches away from mine. I watch, smug, as her breathing speeds up and her pupils dilate.

Closer… Closer…

"Eli…" she whispers, but I cut her off.

We touch, and Jesus, her lips are _soft_. I grunt, and pull her closer, so she's nearly on my lap. She's making little whimpering sounds in the back of her throat, and it makes me smirk against her lips. I hear a gasp as the man behind us, shocked, drops whatever he was holding to the ground and run off.

_Perfect. _

My tongue brushes against her bottom lip, asking for entrance, and she complies.

Her mouth is soft and warm, and she tastes… she tastes..

Like… -my eyes widen-apples.

Shocked, I pull away.

She looks at the ground, her breathing quickening, a deep flush spread across her cheeks.

_Oh god, she thinks she did something wrong. No, Blue Eyes, it's my own personal fucked up baggage._

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I'm not that…"

I pull her close again. She's addicting; She's Blue Eyes; She's _Mine._

"Don't apologize, gorgeous."

Our hands intertwine and she blushes again. I don't know what's next, but frankly, I don't care. She's here, I'm here, nothing else matters.

Meanwhile, I let out a breath and run my tongue over my lips. All childhood trauma aside, I smirk, realizing just how incredibly much I_**love**_ that taste.

**There you go. Sorry it took so long to put out. I had writer's block. I hope this is acceptable.**

**As always, reviews are crack. Almost as addicting as your beauty, gorgeous. ;D**


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